


Cash Money

by SneakyHufflepuff



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyHufflepuff/pseuds/SneakyHufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New to S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha notices that Clint has some unexplained cash withdrawals. She investigates. (From a conversation on the Clint/ Natasha comm on livejournal.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cash Money

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkvoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkvoices/gifts).



> Thanks to shenshen77 for the beta.

Natasha stared intently at her laptop, her half-empty tea cup sitting cold and motionless beside her. In her two weeks since joining S.H.I.E.L.D. she had run unobtrusive background checks on all of her co-workers. Coulson, Sitwell and Hill had been clean, other than the usual human frailties she could use as leverage should she ever need to. She had saved Barton until last (she wasn’t going anywhere _near_ Fury’s secrets), half-afraid of what she would find.

So far he checked out. The circus background had been unexpected, but not worthy of alarm. Wait. Natasha scanned a bank statement from a year ago. There. Three thousand dollars from a tucked away savings account were missing, a change from Clint’s stolid habit of spending only half of his paycheck. She kept looking and found a thousand dollars here and there had been withdrawn in cash, stretching back three years. Now all she had to do was wait until he made his next withdrawal.

\---

Working at S.H.I.E.L.D. over the next month was a bizarre experience. The Red Room hid savagery beneath a veneer of professionalism. The mercenary companies she had worked for since escaping hadn’t even bothered with the veneer. Here, she chipped away at the professionalism and found more professionalism underneath. No living under fear, no brainwashing. It was a world that Natasha grew to like, even if some part of her was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It was a Friday afternoon, and she, along with almost every other worker in the city, was going home for the weekend. As if her job was normal, as if the paycheck she received every week wasn’t earned with blood and sweat. Her phone vibrated against her thigh as she left the building that housed S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New York operation. It was a notification that Barton had made one of his semi-regular cash withdrawals. She had almost forgotten her investigation into his life. Chewing her lip with indecision, she read the email on her phone. Curiosity got in the way of her better judgment and she hurried towards where he had made the withdrawal. It was probably a mundane interest he couldn’t charge on a credit card: sex or drugs or gambling. But the A.T.M. _was_ nearby. And it would be useful to practice tailing a mark.

Decision made, she moved smoothly through the mass of commuters, cursing her distinctive hair. But she saw Barton before he saw her. He was back from a mission in Thailand, his tanned skin, casual t-shirt and tight jeans standing out in the sea of businesspeople as he moved to the nearest subway station, a white envelope in his hand. She followed, quickly buying a baseball cap from a street vendor on her way. She bound up her hair and tucked it under the cap, keeping Barton in sight. The way he moved was distinctive enough that all she needed to do was keep him at the edge of her eyesight.

He got off the subway five stations later, and she barely made it out of the carriage in time to follow, the doors clamping down on her arm like some toothless beast before releasing her. She followed him through the tiled maze of the subway station, afraid she was about to be made. Fortunately, he headed towards one of the exits instead of changing lines. They were in the Lower East Side, which gave her no hint of his plans. Thankful for the commuters that still provided coverage, she followed him past numerous businesses and a playground. He moved with purpose until he paused at a donation box for a food-bank. He slipped the envelope into the box, grinning quietly to himself.

Oh. He was donating money anonymously. That wasn’t nearly as boring as the normal human vices or as disturbing as the potential security risks that the cash could have represented. As he moved away from the box she could see from the way he carried himself, lighter and less tense, that this was his way of decompressing after a mission. She envied him that. He crossed the street, and she was about to duck into an alley and disappear when she saw where he was going. A no kill animal shelter. Really? First he gave money to a food bank and now he was no doubt about to adopt an adorable mutt. Why couldn’t he be visiting a dominatrix like a normal person? 

She waited in the alley for Barton to re-emerge. He did, just not from the front door. The door to the fenced in yard opened, and now dressed in work boots over his jeans, Barton followed a small flood of dogs of all shapes and sizes into the yard. He wove through the mess of animals, then crouched down to pet a scruffy dog. Natasha flinched. An image of the last time she had seen him in that position, crouched down, dressed in black and slitting the throat of a wounded henchman, flashed across her eyes. He stood up, eyes sparkling with happiness, and the image disappeared. She breathed a sigh of relief. _This_ was his way of decompressing after a mission. And if he could have a life outside of work, maybe she could have that too.

Natasha crossed the street to stand at the fence. “Barton!”

Clint stood up from where he had been playing tug of war with a tiny grey terrier. “Tasha! What are you doing here?” Clint bounded towards the fence to meet her.

Natasha shrugged noncommittally. She was the Black Widow; being mysterious and inscrutable was part of the mantle.

“Wanna join me?” Clint asked, a crooked smile creasing his face. He gestured to the dogs playing behind him. The little grey terrier began pawing at his leg, rope in her mouth.

Natasha noted the animal mess that already encrusted the outside of his boots and wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t that far gone. Instead she pulled a fifty dollar note from her purse. “No, I just figured I’d donate to a good cause. You can use it for dog food or something.” She handed him the note. “See you on Monday.”

Something eased in her chest as she turned and walked away, leaving him open-mouthed behind her. Giving that money had felt good, and leaving a confused Agent Barton behind her was rapidly becoming one of her favorite hobbies. 

Natasha remembered passing by a set of Egyptian cotton bed sheets when she had been furnishing her apartment. They had seemed too expensive when she had been going through the motions of setting up a safe-house, but now that she was going to stay she could splurge a little. She let herself smile at the thought of an apartment decorated to her tastes. Maybe a leather couch? And a fine bone china tea set?


End file.
